Legend of Zelda: Keaton Charm
by Keaton Charm
Summary: The first chapter of a story about Keatons, Hylians, and a desperate search for artifacts long lost. A girl shall come of age to rule, only to lead a band of rebels against an evil foe, and a young boy shall discover the bitter truth behind fairy tales...


Legend of Zelda: The Keaton Charm

Legend of Zelda: Keaton Charm

Chapter One

The room was filled with laughter as Link wet his throat with the first batch of autumn cider. Later in the season, apples which were over ripened would produce a drink of a lesser quality, but this batch was made special for the festival, and used only the best. Above the chorus of laughter rose the sound of fiddle and flute as a jester tumbled and danced on the tabletop, much to the delight of all present. Older men and women, slightly intoxicated from the cider wine poured for the more adult patrons, did little to hide their enthusiasm for the show. And why should they? Indeed, the Autumn Festival of Kakariko Village was always a cheery event, and the harvest this year had been especially good.

It was only due to a long midafternoon nap taken earlier in the day that Link was able to participate in the festival activities with such relish. All that morning and the night before had been spent making preparations, a chore traditionally reserved for those youth with open minds and strong backs. And a youth he was, turned fifteen not long ago and accustomed to the hard labors of farm life.

Outside in the failing evening light, the youngest of the village populace would be wrapping up their festivities, the games of apple bobbing and greased pole climbing only reluctantly coming to a close. Off in a far corner, a small huddle of drunken soldiers, only too eager to spend their assigned day off duty at the festival, sang in a raucous chorus, the content of which drove a nearby motherly sort to blush furiously and whack at them with her walking cane. The soldiery had always been prone to lewd songs, and wished to make the most of their ale-derived merrymaking before the sensitive ears of little ones were herded into the building.

Much to the consternation of the proprietor, some devious youth had elected to invite the village's cuckoo population to attend the festivities, having unlatched the gate of the pen in which they were kept. Here and there, the daft white birds dodged this way and that between the feet of various revelers, creating no small amount of commotion. Even Link fell victim as one cuckoo, sent flying in panic as its tail feathers were trod upon (rather rudely in the opinion of the bird), caused him to fall over backwards in his chair, the cuckoo tearing through the air where only a moment ago his head had been. Despite his precarious position, Link could scarcely keep from laughing as he righted his chair and seated himself once more, somewhat peeved that his cider had been knocked over in the scramble. As he did so, the high bell tolled thrice, its knell calling out to all the little ones and those looking after them that it was time to end their play and come indoors.

There was a general clatter of table and chair as little ones, wrapped in their second best warm attire, (the best having been reserved for winter, that it may not be stained in one of the many contests for the children), were led in out of the cold, to be seated at smaller tables lined along the front end of the building. From the corner of his eye, Link spied Malon, her auburn red hair the pride of her mother and the envy of her siblings, escorting the ever belligerent Huckster and Bran to their places, giggling at their brotherly antics. Around the room, those who had seated their charges made their way to the larger tables, and it was with some unease that Link made room for Malon to be seated beside him. As she took her place and flashed him a smile, it felt as if his heart stopped, and the fire in the hearth was far warmer than it should be.

Much to Link's relief, for surely if he had a chance to attempt intelligent conversation, he should be lost for words, the tell tale ringing of the elder's spoon tapping patiently on his glass brought expectant silence to all, save the chattering of cuckoos and some of the naughtier children who continued to squabble over who had the better glass of cider. Eventually, even these were silenced by the indomitable glares of their parents, and even the cuckoos went quiet as the Elder rose at last to address the assembly.

"A hearty welcome to all, my friends. Some of you I know, for you have shared in our labors and lived within our bounds these last years. Others are new faces, visitors from Castle town and, I daresay, more distant lands. To old friends, it is with the greatest of gratitude which I give you my thanks as elder; without you none of this would have been possible. And to new, I extend my hand in welcome, as does the village. Let our homes be yours, for so long as you wish to stay."

There was much cheering and applause from both parties for the elder's kind words, and he was hard put to silence the lot again. "N-now now, thank you all for the sentiment. However, before the feast itself can begin, there are some matters of village affairs which need to be discussed." The notion of further discussion brought the rowdy villagers to silence, eager to hurry up and be done with official matters so plates could be loaded and bellies filled. As the elder raised his hand to speak again, however, a loud, hungry growl was heard throughout the chamber, and the elder seemed to deflate as he stood, flushing abashedly. Native and guest alike giggled good naturedly as the elder straightened his robes and did what he could to salvage his image. Clearing his throat loudly, he played the event for what it was worth.

"Aherm! Ah, erm, that is, never mind all that. Let the feast begin!"

The aroma of hot food, tantalizing in its faint presence until this point, flourished in stunning glory as the back doors swung wide open to admit wooden carts laden with trays bearing the fruit of the harvest. General chatter and conversation struck up anew, most voicing their concerns as to whether this food item or that would be present at the buffet. Link's mouth watered freely as the table was set, and he blushed furiously when Malon giggled at him, snapping his jaw shut and loading his plate with a passion.

As if it were not already hard enough to avoid the desserts for later, Miss Creevey's delectable apple crumpet somehow found its way just to the left of his plate, and Link did his noble best not to stare at it longingly, distracting himself with an ample serving of freshly baked pumpkin bread. Not that there was an absence of courses with which to distract himself; the food was plentiful, and the drink superb.

Across the table from where he sat, Bo Meyore was eyeing a carafe of Sheikah Sherry, conveniently the only one in sight. As it happened, there were few who appreciated the distinctive flavor of Sheikah Sherry. It was both bitter and sharp, with a pungent aftertaste that few could handle. Few would lay hand upon it to take a drink, and it was for precisely this reason that it was chosen as the focus of the act which was to follow. As Bo reached out to seize the handle, Link too extended his arm, and grasped the other end. There was a moment of dispute, during which the rowdy pair exchanged a wink in secret, before any argument was dispelled by the sudden appearance of the elder.

"Now, what have we here, boys? Aren't you two a little young to be exploring the exquisite flavors of Sheikah Sherry?"

An expectant hush fell over the nearby partitioners, and conversation was kept low as eyes turned to observe the affair with some interest. For their part, Link and Bo appeared somewhat ashamed at their behavior, but even so, neither released their hold on the small carafe. After a moment's silence, the elder merely shrugged irritably. "Well, if you are both so intent on possessing this most intriguing beverage, though I can't see why, I suppose there's only one real way to settle the matter."

All eyes followed the elder's hands as he reached beneath the table, during which time he gave a wink of his own to Link and Bo. This had all been planned long before the room had been filled, merely another facet of the night's entertainment. And as a nearby fiddle player began to stir up an excited tune, the elder's hands reappeared above the table, clutching two short, stout wooden poles.

"You'll simply have to duel for it."

There was much laughter and applause from the gathered merrymakers, as those nearby moved back to give room. Few were fooled by the charade; the supposed "duel" had been repeated the year before, and the year before that, yet all were eager to see the show nonetheless. When sufficient space had been cleared and one table emptied, Link and Bo stepped up onto its wooden surface and took a bow, each holding one wooden pole at their sides in the manner of a sword. As they rose, the fiddle player's tune became noticeably faster paced, reflecting the comical excitement as the dull sticks came clacking together for the first time.

To the observers, the fight was rather like a dance, the motions of the combatants fluid and graceful. In truth, the entire confrontation had been practiced numerous times to ensure that neither would be hurt, but the skill with which they carried out their roles was backed by very real skill and experience with swordplay. Both had been taught by the village swordmaster in the art of combat, and within one or two years more, would earn their first real swords. Link couldn't help but smile as he parried a thrust from his "adversary"; Bo had been his friend and sparring partner for a very long time, and they were often seen together. Link was under the suspicion that his friend had taken a fancy for Malon, which in truth would come as little surprise. Nearly every boy her age had.

Numerous cheers erupted from the onlookers as Link was finally stabbed in the belly after his own sword had been knocked aside. He played the moment for what it was worth, clutching at his middle with a well practiced face of acute pain, before falling back upon the table, the perfect image of death. The room became filled with applause as Link took Bo's hand and was lifted back to his feet, the pair taking a bow before helping to restore the arrangements to their previous positions. Neither was spared hearty claps on the back for their performance, and much to their chagrin, the pair were politely forced to drink the contents of the carafe for which they had fought. Bo succeeded in doing so with some grace, but Link made a face as the pungent drink went down his throat, which resulted only in more laughter from his neighbors.

When Link was finally allowed to return to his seat, Malon sat once again beside him, quite determined to further embarrass him with her own wry humor.

"Here rests Link, the mighty hero, honourably slain by a wooden sword over a drink he didn't even want. Some warrior you are…"

Link once again experienced the feeling of the room being far too hot, and he tried his best to appear small and pitiable. Bo certainly didn't help matters by laughing like a fool, and Link resolved to crack him upon the head with a jug when next he had a chance. Thankfully, Link was spared any further humiliation by the elder's call for all the little ones to come forward. Most patrons by this time had eaten their fill, and the children swept to the front of the room eagerly, to sit upon cushions provided for them before the elder, who now rested in a high backed chair near the fire. As the elder donned a set of reading spectacles, he methodically opened a large tome upon his lap. In spite of himself, Link sat a little straighter in his chair, his attention focused on the little old man with the book.

"Now, are all the young ones gathered here? Yes? Good. I pray you all enjoyed yourselves at the festival today, for the years of the young are few, and you will not always have the strength to leap over small ditches or climb ropes. I should know…" The elder giggled softly, accompanied by some of the older patrons, before he continued. "But now that the sun has set, it is a time for relaxation, a time to sit and digest the wonderful meal we have just consumed, and what better way to do so than to a story?"

The children's' eyes lit up, wondering what manner of story they were to be told on this night. A few of the youngest curled up on their cushions for a nap, but most remained awake, all too eager to be carried away to a land of fanciful imaginings. "What are you going to read us?" one little boy asked. The elder smiled warmly, his long, white mustache framing his face kindly as he answered.

"I will be reading the story of the keaton named Keaton, and how he stole the Master Sword. Come closer, come closer! Here is how it begins…"


End file.
